


What He's Missing

by Buenaventura



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: AU, Chameleon Arch, Episode: s03e08-09 Human Nature/Family of Blood, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-19 19:57:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1482049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buenaventura/pseuds/Buenaventura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Ninth Doctor uses the Chameleon Arch to hide from the Family of Blood with Rose as his companion instead of Martha and Nine instead of Ten. AU in that Nine didn't regenerate after taking the Time Vortex out of Rose at the end of Season 1.<br/>BBC knows what they own.<br/>Unedited. Constructive criticism very welcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hey Ho, The Wind and Rain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/967070) by [gallifreyburning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyburning/pseuds/gallifreyburning). 



Chapter 1

 

His eyes flew open as he awoke with a start and in a moment of panic, began to thrash in the dark before he realized what bound his limbs was nothing more than his tangled bed-sheets. They had become wrapped around his body during yet another night filled with his twisting and turning as his body subconsciously tried to fight off the disturbing images that filled his dreams and placed true rest just out of reach. As always, he awoke feeling drained rather than restored. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as his heart rate slowly returned to normal. He felt as if he’d been running and he was soaked in sweat.

He lay there, quietly waiting for the panic to ebb away, still as could be, as if his nightmares were a beast that could only see him if he moved, and if he held his breath just long enough it would slink away, back to the dark depths of his soul from which it had come. The sweat on his body began to cool and the chill of the damp English pre-dawn air began to seep into his bones.

He threw off his covers and sat up, sweeping his feet to the floor and there he stayed for a moment, collecting his thoughts. He looked around the room which he called home and yet somehow felt so unfamiliar. It was a cavernous room, with a polished wood floor, oak-paneled walls, and a dark forest green ceiling. A handsome mahogany wardrobe stood proud to the left of the grand fireplace at the south end and a plush deep velvet sofa decorated the north end. His bed was nestled into the north-east corner, facing south, so that the early morning light might stream in and gently wake him. Sadly, he almost never slept so late as to allow the sun’s caress to wake him. A plush royal purple rug met his toes and he absent-mindedly traced a circular pattern on it with the big toe of his right foot.

With a sigh, he finally stood up and reached for his dark blue robe and tied it on over his soft white night shirt. His slippers had scurried under the bed at some point and with a long foot he dragged them back out and slipped them on, enjoying the soft sheepskin that enveloped his feet. His shuffling footsteps echoed in the large room as he made his way to the door. The pewter handle was cold to the touch and the hall he stepped into was still dark as the pre-dawn light hadn’t yet it made its way over the mountains to the east of his manor. No sounds reached his (rather large) ears. He was sure the only other living inhabitant of the home was still asleep, as she should be, unplagued as she was by nightmares, he assumed.

His thoughts turned to her, his bright and shining helper, as he shuffled down the dark hall toward the kitchen, as if in a daze. He wasn’t sure when or from where she had come, but he couldn’t remember living in the house without her. There were a lot of things he could only half remember, only the past few months living in this great big old house were clear. His life before then felt like a dream, just events in another person’s life, memories that didn’t feel like his. His nightmares, on the other hand, felt a thousand times more real than his childhood, his time at university, his life as a professor and a writer. He was pulled out of his reverie when he suddenly realized he was standing in the middle of the kitchen and his housekeeper, Rose, was speaking to him.

“Doctor? Doctor, are you alright?” she asked, as she got up from the table where she was sitting and moved over toward him, frowning at him in concern.

“Yes… yes.. quite alright…” he trailed off before looking as if he suddenly remembered something.

“What are you doing awake, Miss Rose? It’s a little early for you, isn’t it?” It was then that he finally looked at her and realized than in place of her usual black frock and apron she was wearing a light pink dressing gown and thick wool socks and had what looked like a knitted blanket wrapped around her shoulders and torso like a shawl. He realized he was staring and pulled his eyes away and toward the floor.

“You’re not dressed,” he said, still pointedly looking away.

“Oh..” she looked down at her clothes, “I’m sorry I didn’t expect you to be up… I didn’t mean to be… um... improper..”

He risked a glance back at her and saw sadness lingering on her face and in her downcast eyes.

“Is something wrong Miss Rose?” he asked, his voice soft and full of gentle concern. He thought he saw a tear slip down her cheek but it was still too dark to tell for certain.

“Ah, no, no, I’m fine,” she said, forcing a toothy smile, but it lacked its usual warmth.

“Tea?” she asked, a little too brightly, as she turned away from the scrutiny of his bright blue eyes and toward the stove.

He shook his head at the mystery that is women and sat down heavily in one of the chairs.

“Yes, please.”

“Alright then,” she said as she busied herself starting the stove and filling the tea kettle as the early morning light finally began streaming in through the kitchen windows and past the thin drapes.

“Bad dreams again, sir?” she asked softly as she placed his steaming hot cup and saucer on the table in front of him.

He had been gazing out the window at the great green fields that seemed to go on forever. He turned to her and his piercing blue eyes seemed to stare down into her soul when he asked,

“What do you know of my bad dreams, Miss Rose?” with a slightly suspicious tone to his voice and the wrinkle of his brow.

She looked taken aback for a moment and looked down at the cup in her hands as a blush spread across her cheeks.

“I… I’ve heard you… sometimes… calling out…” she glanced a nervous look back up to gauge his reaction.

He looked so confused and lost for a moment, her heart ached to comfort him and she moved closer but he pulled back just the slightest bit. She was sure it was subconscious but it hurt none the less.

He shook his head, as if to clear it.

“Nevermind it. We’ll not talk about it again Miss Rose,” he said with a tone of finality.

“Yes, sir,” she returned before taking her tea and heading toward the door.

“Wait, Miss Rose, you were here first, do stay.”

She turned back to him, “Are you sure, sir? It’s no trouble…”

“Please Miss Rose. It’s just us two for company and here we are awake when no one should be. I do not think it would be too improper to share a morning tea.”

A real smile finally broke out across her cheeks, the one that could never fail to elicit one from him as well.

“Quite right, sir.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Chapter 2

After that day, sharing their morning tea became routine. They started their days earlier than they needed to, haunted as they were by what awaited them in sleep, sitting in silence, two ghosts dancing around each other in the grand old house. At times, the Doctor would say or do something and Rose would turn her wide hazel eyes on him and stare with a fond sadness as if she’d seen a ghost of a friend long gone, then he’d meet her eyes and she’d look away, back to her knitting or darning. They found themselves gravitating towards each other, the only two souls in the house, orbiting around each other, familiar but somehow so distant. Sometimes he could feel Rose move toward him, but the propriety ingrained in him dictated he always move ever so subtly away, nipping any improper closeness that may be developing between master and maid in the bud, or so he thought.

And so they passed the rest of the long north England winter that way, ever close but always distant, hardly talking, but he spent less and less time in his study and she more and more time in the lounge with him. The house needed very little seeing to what with it being just the two of them for the season and him owning no livestock, so whatever Rose needed to tend to, be it mending his shirts or knitting a new scarf or studying from the books in his library, she brought it into the lounge with her to occupy herself as she sat in the plush chair by the fire they had both subconsciously deemed “hers.” Just a few feet away the Doctor would sit in his own plush chair, with his rather substantial nose deep in an old leather bound book, glasses threatening to slip right off the pointed end of his nose.

Every morning she made them tea in the kitchen where they whiled away the time it took for the sun to finally herald the day, by which time she would begin making breakfast, which the Doctor took informally in the kitchen with Rose. Then he would withdraw to his chambers to bathe and change, though why he even bothered getting properly dressed when he spent all day alone in his own house was beyond him, he had to remind himself he wasn’t technically alone, although as a servant Rose should rightfully be discounted, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. He refused to admit he did anything in an effort to impress her, he told himself he was merely keeping up the appearance that suited a man of his stature and position. He was most definitely not trying to impress his servant-girl. He told himself he was merely lonely and she was better company than none. _Perhaps I should get a cat_ sometimes crossed his mind.

She would bring him lunch in his study, then he would retire to the sitting room with the grand windows, hoping for a ray of sunshine or a moment’s peace. As the sun’s last rays faded away, he would retreat back to the well-lit library and bury himself in books and knowledge until Rose called him for dinner. He still took dinner in a more formal affair, with her waiting on him as he ate at the dining room table, all alone, with just Rose standing by, ready with more food and more wine. He always felt slightly awkward, eating while she watched him, he her only charge, but he felt he must retain at least some semblance of a proper household.

“Miss Rose, where is everyone else?” he asked her one evening over beef stew and potatoes and green beans.

“Sir, you know it’s just us two…” she answered quietly.

“Yes, but why? Why did I leave my post at the University? That’s where I was, in Lancaster, I remember… I taught there yes? Why did I leave? Did I not like it?” his questions took on an increasingly uncertain and worried tone.

Rose looked nervous and chose her answer carefully.

“Yes, sir, you did… I was assigned your servant there and when you left you took me with you, to help manage this house. You wanted to take time away, you’d been a professor many years there, you said you wanted to work on your book, in the quiet of the country… so here we are,” she said brightly.

“I took you with me? And you came? Willingly? To follow an old man out to the country, to be bored to your death?” he scoffed, incredulous.

She took a couple steps forward as she spoke, her very movements conveying the conviction in her words, “Oh, no Sir you’re anything but boring. Doctor,” she said earnestly, searching his eyes with her own, as if imploring with him to believe her, “life with you is anything but boring.”

He stared back, still incredulous, but when he spoke his voice was tired and sad, his shoulders sank and he deflated, “How could you say that Miss Rose? I am nothing. I’ve done _nothing_. Nothing remarkable has ever happened to me, I’ve never done anything brilliant, anything clever… I’m just a boring old man, close to the end of my days, never having made a mark.”

Her heart broke when she looked into his eyes and saw with what conviction he believed this. It was like a dam had opened up after these months of silence and all his doubts came pouring out of him, his defenses weakened by night after night of terrors and bad dreams.

“The man in my dreams, he’s the remarkable one. He’s _terrible_ ; a _horrible_ , _frightening_ man, but his life is filled with such wonder, such unbelievable things. He’s seen so much Miss Rose, lived so much, and it haunts him, it haunts me. Why must I suffer for the deeds of another? Why does my mind taunt me with such brilliant actions, knowing I have achieved nothing of the like?”

Rose was lost for words. She just stared helplessly into his electric blue eyes, wishing she could tell him, wishing she could free him, _Oh Doctor, just three more months, you can do it, just three more months till we’re back together again, free as birds in the TARDIS. All of Time and Space, just you and me, as it should be._

A single tear slipped out of the Doctor’s eye and Rose couldn’t tear herself away from his gaze, and forgetting all the manners she was supposed to adopt for this time period, she leaned forward, far too close than was proper, and reached her hands up to the Doctor’s face, etched as it was by centuries of worry. His angular face was surprisingly soft under her hands, and she gently held his face there, deep blue eyes still pouring into her own all his worry and fear and despondency, before leaning in, far, far too close for modesty and whispered breathily, her mouth just inches from his, “Oh Doctor, if only you knew…” and with that she closed the distance between them and pressed her soft pink lips to his own, pouring all her love and care and concern into the kiss.

Rose wished she could stay in that moment forever, there with the Doctor’s warm breath mingling with her own, his soft tender lips pressed against hers, his strong handsome face cradled in her hands, his lashes fluttering against her skin; something she could never bring herself to do before, but now with him here, so broken, so lost, so _human_ , she couldn’t resist. She broke the kiss, worried she would scare him off, the proper gentleman that he was, the proper, and very scared, gentleman that he was. Still gently holding his face, she opened her large hazel eyes to search his vibrant blue ones. His lips were slightly parted and his heart rate had quickened, pleasant surprise on his features. He slowly raised his left hand to cover Rose’s which still held the left side of his face.

“Miss Rose…?” he said it almost like a question.

“Yes Doctor, I’m here,” she said with a gentle smile.

A manic grin broke out across his face, the first of those oh-so-familiar smiles that Rose had seen on him for three months, since before he turned himself human.

“That’s more like you,” she grinned.

His grin faded and he asked, “How do you know me so well Miss Rose? And… Why don’t I know you?”

“I’ve been working for you a long time Doctor. And I’m just your servant girl, what’s there to know?” she asked sadly, finally releasing him and with that, she turned and retreated, back through the kitchen, back to the part of the house to which the Doctor never ventured. He watched her dress swish across the floor with the movement of her hips, wondering just how much he was missing.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 

The Doctor knew not how long he sat, shocked into stillness at that rich mahogany dining table after Rose left, his mouth still hanging slightly open. Finally when the clammy cold began to seep into his old bones and the carved wooden back of his chair began to dig into his thin back did he finally stir. It was in a trance that he shuffled off to his study, he made it halfway across the dining room floor before he stopped, turned and spied the still mostly-full bottle of wine still sitting at the side table. In a moment of madness (he never drank wine except for his one glass with dinner) he grabbed it and his empty glass and took them with him to the comfort of the waiting fire. He sunk down in his usual chair, half wondering where Rose was, why wasn’t she in _her_ chair, when he realized that of course, whatever had seemed to happen between them in the dining room must be to blame for her absence.

He stared into the roaring fireplace, eyes searching as if he might ascertain the answers he seeked from the patterns of the flickering flames, the rolling red embers, the sparks that burst forth when a log cracked open under the pressure of the heat within.

 _What did it mean? It wasn’t exactly a chaste kiss… he’d experienced his share of those, or had he? She must see me as a father figure…. why else would she follow me out here, young vibracious woman like her, so full of life, if she had any other option? Why can’t I remember her story? Maybe she’s an orphan… she said she’s been serving me a long time but she’s so young… maybe her mother was my servant and she grew up serving me?_   _Could she tell how affected I was by her kiss? By her nearness?_ His conjectures grew wilder and wilder as the level of the red liquid in the tall glass bottle fell farther and farther.

He had drank the last drop and still was no closer to clarity, even on a theory, about what the kiss meant, what _she_ meant, or why either of them were even there. He wished he could remember what book he was out here to write in the first place. Half-drunk, he pulled an old empty notebook off a dusty shelf. His books were well-read, but those meant to be filled with the words from his own mind lay untouched. He sat in his chair, shoulders hunched and defeated, staring at the blank pages in his lap, glaring up at him with derision and scorn. He had a pen in hand and an ink well at the ready, but no words came. He didn’t fancy himself a writer. He couldn’t imagine ever thinking something he thought would be so important it merited being written down, yet Rose had told him he wanted to.

_Rose wouldn’t lie to me, he thought… but then again, there’s so much hidden about that young woman. Such mystery for such a short life._

His musings went on and on, circular and never ending in his head, until finally he succumed to the sleep ushered in by alcohol and the late hour and his lids slid closed over icy blue eyes and his head dropped down to his chest. The pen fell from his lax fingers and the book slid from his lap and soft snores filled the study.

 

 

Rose closed her bedroom door behind her and leaned back against it with a heavy sigh, a still-pounding heart and closed her eyes.

 _WHY did I do that?? I’ve probably gone and scared him off now, he’ll probably be more distant than ever now… He just looked so sad… he’s so lonely. It’s like after the earth exploding all over again… But I’m here, I’m not going anywhere, why doesn’t he see that?_ she sighed once more before throwing herself face-down on her plush quilt-covered bed with a groan. She wanted to sink into its feathery embrace and never come out again. Her mind wandered to the TARDIS, safe and hidden in an old garden shed no one ever used, half-way towards being reclaimed by the woods of the estate.

She missed that old ship. She hadn’t realized how comforting having that subtle hum in the back of her mind was until it was gone. She never thought she’d see the day she’d actually miss having the presence of another in her mind. But the TARDIS and the Doctor were like two halves of the same whole, it didn’t make sense to have one without the other. Some days she’d wander into the TARDIS, just to look around the familiar rooms, lost in memories of twirling and being dipped across the grates, lit only by the wonderful green light of the column. She’d hoped that maybe the silver lining of this plan would be that maybe the man the Doctor would become would like dancing or maybe wouldn’t run so hot and cold. She’d been wrong. It was as if all the Doctor’s saddest moments were rolled up into one man who had none of his manic nor his wonder at life.

She tried to abandon this depressing line of thought and think on something else instead, anything else. But nothing would come. She had never felt so far away as now, when she was a mere 250 miles and a 150 years from “home.” She couldn’t lie to herself: home was with the Doctor, on the TARDIS, and right now, she had neither.

She didn’t think she could face him tonight, not after exposing herself in such a way. He’d either ignore her or scold her, and neither prospect sounded enjoyable. Instead she gave in to the soft lure of a nap in a warm cozy bed and when she woke, night had truly fallen. The moonlight fell in stripes across her room and she went to check on the Doctor, she expected he’d be in his room and the rest of the house dark, but light still poured out of the study and into the hall.

She entered the cozy rich room and sure enough, there he was in his chair, sound asleep and snoring. She smiled fondly and fetched his favorite blanket before draping it over him gently and carefully tucking in the edges. He barely stirred. She reached down to brush away a stray piece of blonde-grey hair and her fingers lingered on his brow. She couldn’t help herself; she leaned down and placed the softest and lightest of kisses on his forehead before lightly treading off, back to her room and the comforts of her bed.


	4. Chapter 4

The Doctor woke from a uncommonly dreamless sleep with a crick in his neck and unfamiliar sights before him. It took him a few groggy moments for the fog to clear and the pounding in his head to recede just enough for him to remember why he was curled up rather uncomfortably in his armchair rather than sweaty and tangled in the soft linen sheets of his bed. He looked down at the thick warm quilt that warded off the northern chill and pondered it for a few moments, his brain still moving at an embarrassingly sluggish pace, before he realized Rose must have found him, drunk or passed out, and covered him with it in the night. He felt his face flush hot and red and leaned back into the chair with a groan and dragged his long-fingered hand down across his face, as if he could scrub the knowledge of his shameful conduct from his memory by doing so.

If he thought he couldn’t face Rose _before_ , how on earth would he now? He thought he remembered everything from the night before, after all, it was only one bottle of wine, but it had been a very long time since he’d had more than one glass in a sitting, what if there was something he was missing? What if he’d said something in that in between dream and waking place? He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and face cradled in his hands, willing all the awful thoughts away.

He heard the door creak open behind him and a soft voice called out, “Doctor?”

He sighed inwardly, _just what I need_.

Without lifting his head he replied wearily, “Yes, Rose?”

“Um...just wanted to know if you’d like breakfast sir..?” she sounded hesitant.

_Sitting down with Rose...This can’t get any worse._

“I made your favorite!” she said, much more brightly this time.

_Why is she so nice to me? I wish I could remember…_

He forced a grin to his face and finally turned to her bright cheery face from across the room. “That sounds lovely Miss Rose. Let me just get washed up. I’m afraid I’m not exactly my most presentable at the moment,” he said with a small self-deprecating grin.

Her broad grin revealed her shiny white teeth and just a hint of her tiny pink tongue and seemed to warm his chest from the inside out.

“Oh sir,” she said warmly, “you know you don’t have to get all dressed up for me.” _You’re perfect just as you are_ , she resisted saying, but somehow, he seemed to hear it anyway.

He finally smiled, a small one, but one that reached his bright blue eyes, and it warmed Rose’s heart more than he knew. And with that, he pulled the quilt off, stood and brushed the wrinkles out of his clothes with as much stately dignity as he could manage, having just spent the night in his armchair, and followed the pink and yellow girl to the kitchen for their daily informal meal.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

“Rose,” the Doctor quietly murmured, breaking the familiar silence which had surround them as they went through the motions of their daily ritual.

The sound of her name pulled Rose from her reverie and she tore her gaze away from the sunkissed hills beyond the window and turned them instead upon her companion.

“Yes?” she asked, leaning forward toward him in that unconscious way she had of showing she cared. The Doctor was hunched over his cup of tea, both hands cradling it, eyes deep and unfathomable as he stared into the warm brown liquid, brows furrowed and shoulders betraying his anxiety.

“What is it?” she implored.

He sighed a deep sigh that wracked his thin frame and seemed to hang his head even lower before finally raising his tired eyes to meet Rose’s.

“Rose…I beg of you…” he began tiredly, “please forgive me for any recent… _transgressions_ … I assure you, it won’t happen again. Although I understand if you no longer wish to work for me--”

“Doctor!” Rose interjected, reaching out a small warm hand to grab his forearm, he glanced down at it as if confused by its presence, “Don’t say that! You haven’t done anything wrong!”

“Oh Rose,” he sighed sadly, “You are too young to understand..a young woman like you deserves to be with people your own age, living life--”

“Stop it,” she cut him off with a stern voice and a flash in her eyes and his mouth dropped open.

“I may be young but I’m not _stupid_! I’ve seen more than you know! Don’t get all, ( _deep mimicking voice_ ), ‘Now Rose, I know what’s best for you, best leave now, best go home where you’re _safe_ ’…I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, this is where I belong, and _I’m not gonna leave you_.”

She was half out of her chair now, breath coming slightly quicker, the momentum in her words carrying her forward and upwards, both hands braced on the table, leaning over into the Doctor’s personal space and he was leaning back, mouth gaping open, glubbing like a fish and had shock written all across his features.

“R-Rose…I…”

She silenced him by closing the small distance between them and pressing her full lips to his. He froze and began to pull away in shock but she gently cupped her hands around his face, fingers carefully molding over sharp cheekbones, her eyelashes fluttering against his. For a moment, she felt him relax into her, his lips becoming pliant and soft, easily slotting against hers. She sighed contentedly, deep in her chest as she finally felt him return the kiss, his lips tentative and unsure. She took the lead, coaxing his lips apart and reached out with the tip of her tantalizing pink tongue to gently swipe across his lips, imploring them to part for her. He complied with a sigh and slid his hands across the table to gently hold her where her elbows rested on the table.

For a moment, a brief, precious moment, Time itself stood still, and from the depths of Rose’s mind came fluttering up a memory, more than half-forgotten, like a wisp of a dream, of another kiss like this one, full of unfulfilled promises and sacrifice. Her eyes sprang open and the spell was broken as easily as it was cast. The Doctor jumped like an electric shock went through him and broke away from Rose’s lips, his breathing ragged and eyes wild.

He jerked his hands away from her elbows and held them up almost defensively, as if he could physically ward off the power this girl had over him.

“Rose!” he protested, “This is highly inappropriate!” suddenly seeming to remember his station.

For a split second the Doctor thought he saw something like hesitation in her eyes, then it was gone.

“Do you want me to stop?” she asked levely.

“Rose… it matters not what I want…” his voice seemed to waver and he couldn’t meet her eyes.

“But what do you _want_ , Doctor? For once, think of you,” she implored.

That caught his attention.

“What do you mean, for once?”

She looked at him now with her big sad eyes and pouty lips that pulled down at the corners. “Doctor,” she began softly, “when was the last time you were _happy_?”

“I… I am always alright.”

“That’s not what I asked,” resignation hung heavy in her voice now and she sunk back into her chair.

“I… I cannot… Rose, I…” with that he finally gave up ran from the room, clutching his black billowing robe around his broad thin shoulders like it would protect him from the disappointed hazel eyes burning holes through his back.

“Doctor… I’ll always be here…” she said it so softly he wondered if he only imagined he heard it as he swept out into the hall, towards the depths of the dark empty house.

****  
  
  


Rose watched him leave, sadness weighing heavy on her heart. She’d never give up on him, she knew it. But she couldn’t deny part of her had hoped that with the Doctor in human form, with just the two of them alone in a great big house, for three months, he might let himself enjoy some of the things he never would as the Last of the Time Lords.

She fixed herself another cuppa and retreated to her favorite plush chair in the study, surrounded by books and a great roaring fire. With a warm blanket, a hot cuppa, and the book she was currently reading, it was the most comfort the situation could over. She settled in with a sigh, determined to make the most of what was rapidly turning into yet another gray afternoon, locked in a house with a version of the Doctor no less difficult than before.

Rose quickly lost herself and her problems in the world between the pages of the book in her hands, transported away from the TARDIS, the aliens that were so alien, the empty depressing house, the maddening human Doctor, the cold damp northern countryside and everything else that was both wonderful and horrible in her life. She was so engrossed that she didn’t notice the Doctor until his electrifying blue eyes were a mere six inches from her own and the man himself was crouched down in front of her.

“Rose.”

She felt it more than heard it like a rumble deep in her chest and looked up with a gasp.

Bright blue eyes were twinkling at her with the fire and intensity of the Oncoming Storm and a stern look held down the corners of his mouth. His eyes bore into hers and she had never felt more naked and exposed than in that moment. She refused to wilt under his scrutiny and stared back with typical Tyler stubbornness. Whatever test he was conducting, she seemed to pass.

He sprang forward and uncoiled with the finesse and power of a great cat and took her face in his two large hands and claimed her lips with his own. This time, it was his tongue that seeked entrance and caressed her plush lips with gentle probing strokes. He drank her in like a man dying of thirst and sucked and savored the sweetness that was her lips and mouth with a skill that spoke of things to come.

 

****  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Next chapter… sexy times?

 


	6. Chapter 6

Rose’s heart seemed to still in her chest and for a moment she wondered if the man before her was Time Lord once again as the moment seemed to stretch on for eternity. Her mind was deliciously blank and fire seemed to spread outward from where his lips met hers to every nerve ending in her body. Her mind was still in shock but her body responded almost immediately. Her hands reached up to grasp his face, thumbs under his sharp cheekbones and finger tips curling under his impressing ears, forcing him even closer and mirroring his hold on her.

One moment Rose was barely comprehending finding the Doctor crouched in front of her, _kissing her_ , and in the next Rose found herself pressed onto her back into the couch with all six feet of the Doctor stretched out on top of her. She gasped when she felt the hard evidence of his desire, _Definitely human_ , she thought, pressing down on her thigh. She struggled to shift her hips, the Doctor was heavier than his lean framed suggested, seeking the friction his hard member could offer her clit.

His response was a growl and a predatory smile as he pushed himself up with his arms to peer down into her large hazel eyes, “Eager are we, Rose?”

She could only bite her lip in reply, not trusting herself to speak, knowing her attempt to tease him back would only result in a desperate moan, the product of over a year of solo fantasies in her bed at night and heated dreams that never went _quite_ far enough.

 

He seemed to understand this and grinned voraciously at his prey.

With the Doctor’s lips separated from Rose’s she could finally cobble together some semblance of thought and regain some of her typical Tyler tease.

“Well aren’t you a far cry from the man who wouldn’t kiss me this morning at the kitchen table?” she asked, teasing but with a slight pant to her voice.

His face took on a slightly more serious expression and his voice, deep and sincere rumbled through her as he spoke as they lay, ribcage to ribcage, “I don’t know who I am Rose, what kind of man I was before, but I know who I want to be now. I don’t want to die an old lonely man, full of regrets.”

She looked up with sympathy and understand and her voice was soft when she reached up and pulled him back down for a soft, warm kiss, “Come ‘ere.”

He sank into her, lips molded to lips, skin pressed to skin, the hard lines of his body melting into the soft curves of hers.

They lost themselves in the kiss, letting their bodies and their hormones take over where their minds had been holding them back.

The Doctor broke the kiss to nuzzle and suck on her neck. “Rose…” the Doctor breathed, “how long have you wanted to do this?”

“Since _run_.”

Whether he remembered or not, she wasn’t sure, but he definitely understood. He hungrily returned to her lips and claimed them as his own before slipping two wiry arms under her and sitting back and pulling her up with him. He then shifted back off the couch and rearranged his arms so one was under her back and one under her knees and lifted her more effortlessly than should be possibly. Rose couldn’t help but cast him and appreciative glance and a hungry one-over.

“Going somewhere are we?” she teased.

“Thought the bed might be a little more comfortable for the lady,” he teased right back.

“Aw, so considerate,” she replied with her cheeky tongue-poking-out smile.

He laid her down on his bed and stood there, gazing at her with a look of pure awe on his face, Rose immediately recalled a time, so long ago and so far away, _Don’t laugh…. You look beautiful…._ and her heart ached for that man, so close and yet so far away. But she couldn’t regret it. The look on his face now was exactly as it was then, and it she knew she would never get more than this.

“Are we going too fast..?” he asked softly, with just a hint of hesitation in his voice.

“No,” she replied firmly but kindly, “I rather think we’ve waited long enough,” she answered with a small smile.

A manic grin broke out across his face and he lept forward to straddle her on his hands and knees where she lay on the bed, “I think you’re right Rose Tyler,” before sitting back and beginning to divest her of her clothes, one button at a time.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

 

The small part of her brain that wasn’t drowning in lust produced the thoughts, _Should I really be doing this? Aren’t I taking advantage of him… betraying his trust..? He never said we couldn’t do this… He’s not exactly the same man… But will he remember anything..?_ but the sudden grind of the Doctor’s hips onto Rose which brought his hard length down against her clit, even through their respective layers of clothing, was enough to banish them from her head completely, at least perhaps, until it was over.

Soon no thoughts could be formed at all as Rose’s mind became hazy with want and need and her primal, carnal, lizard brain was more than happy to take the wheel, directing her body effortlessly as it moved desperately against the Doctor’s equally desperate, now human, own.

Promptly the two of them were all lips and teeth and hands and moans and sighs and skin. Fingers entwined in hair clutched at buttons and ties and hems and shirts, fabric standing as the last cruel barrier between them. The Doctor wasn’t deterred and in what felt like no time Rose lay completely naked beneath him and he sat up where he was kneeling across her thighs to survey his handiwork.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, his eyes wide with adoration and Rose felt the slightest blush creep up across her cheeks, never had she expected to be in such a position as she was now, hoped and dreamed yes, fantasized, of course, but never expected.

“You’re over-dressed Doctah,” she replied with a coy raise of her perfectly manicured eyebrow.

He looked down at himself, still in his trousers, “That I am,” he grinned, and soon remedied the situation.

Now it was Rose’s turn to gawk. Of course she’d entertained flattering images of certain aspects of the Doctor’s anatomy, and she was pleased to find she wasn’t incorrect.

He caught her staring and asked, “Like what you see?” with a devilish grin.

“So far, let’s see what it can do” she replied cheekily.

A hungry look crossed his face and he slowly kissed his way down her body saying, “Oh, I’ll show you what I can do.”

Rose gasped when she felt his lush lips make contact with her own, and she found that the skill of his mouth and tongue were sadly underestimated in her dreams. His broad hands held her hips down tightly as she tried to buck up into his mouth with each probe of his long tongue into her cunt and each time it deftly massaged her clit. Before long she was writhing and moaning his name, hands desperately clutching at his shoulders, his neck, his too-short hair and prominent ears and he made short work of her with his probing tongue, his sucking lips and his long, slender fingers, driving her mad with stimulation to her most intimate places.

“Doctor! Doctor! Please…” she begged each time he brought her too close to the edge before backing off, denying her release.

Finally he’d had enough of torturing her and sat up to admire her in her undone, desperately turned-on state.

His eyes turned sappy for a moment before she had recovered enough to ask playfully, “Are you as skilled with all your bits as you are with your mouth Doctor?”

The predatory grin stole back over his face as he positioned himself between her legs and answered, “Let’s find out,” before sinking deeply into her warm tight embrace with a long-suffering groan.

“Rose! Rose you’re perfect, so perfect.”

“Oh Doctor!” she moaned as she wrapped her legs around his tiny waist and rested her feet against his tight bum. Wafting up out of the haze of lust and sex came the thought, _My dreams have come no where close to reality…_ and just then one perfect thrust sent the tip of his hard shaft pressing into her G-spot and rendering all thinking impossible. All there was was the Doctor and her, pressed tightly together, moving together as one, the slide of his dick in and out of her, the way her walls clenched against him, the way her legs involuntarily forced him closer, deeper, harder.

She felt herself approach the edge again and called out to him, begging, and somehow he knew what she needed. He raised himself up on his elbow just enough to fit one slender arm down between them and find her sensitive node and with just a few swift rubs they were coming together, years of sexual tension making them both incapable of stamina.

Finally they rested together, panting heavily, sweaty and sticky and perfect, Rose and the Doctor, completing each other as they always felt they would. 


End file.
